


One Night on the Road

by Baroness_Blixen



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Diana Fowley is mentioned, F/M, a mix of humor and angst, one bed, season 6, the tension is high in this one, they have to share a pajama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baroness_Blixen/pseuds/Baroness_Blixen
Summary: Mulder and Scully have to share a room, a bed and a... pajama.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 13
Kudos: 128





	One Night on the Road

“There’s one room available.”

“Just one?” Mulder repeats, staring at the elderly lady behind the reception desk. She stares back at him, her forehead wrinkled in confusion. Unless that’s just what she looks like all the time.

“That’s what I said,” she draws out the words, probably thinking he’s hard of hearing – or plain dumb. “You want it or not?”

“We’ll take it.” Scully strolls in, her hands empty and dripping wet. An ‘I told you so’ burns on his tongue; she didn’t want to believe him their overnight bags were unsalvageable. He turns back around so that Scully can’t see his smile. No need to stoke the fire. She’s been ready to throw him out of the car for hours and leave him in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. Now they’re both stuck here. In one room.

“Do you have a roll-away cot?” Mulder dares a glance at Scully, her hair a mess, her eyes a hurricane, and prays that just this once they’re in luck. He should have known better.

“Dearie, back in my time, we didn’t need no cots. The floor is carpeted.” And that’s that.

The room, as well as the bed, is tiny. Even if he wanted to, Mulder isn’t sure he’d even fit on the floor. Scully is quiet next to him, shivering. Fuck. They have no clothes except for what they’re wearing. Which means…

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about sleeping naked tonight?” Instead of an answer, she gives him a dirty look and leaves. Left alone, Mulder sighs. His clothes aren’t as wet as Scully’s. They’re just greasy and smelly. He takes off his jacket and tosses it on the only chair in the room before he sits on the bed. It’s going to be a long night.

Scully returns five minutes later, holding what looks like a tent. She’s going to make him sleep outside, in the icy rain. Maybe that’s what he deserves.

“This is all she had for us.”

“What… what is it?”

“A pajama.” One. That seems to be the motto here. One room, one bed, one pajama. One angry Scully. She is holding the pajama set close to her chest as if to say this is hers and she is not going to share. A tent he could have put up outside might have been the better solution.

“Well, I guess I’ll-”

“We’ll have to share,” she says through gritted teeth. At least she hates it as much as he does.

“Which part do you want?” His joke goes unappreciated as she throws the pants at him and disappears into the bathroom. Mulder looks at the garment. It’s huge. As he peels himself out of his clothes, he wonders how tall that man must have been. The waist is too big and the pants sit low – very low – on his hips. If he looks this ridiculous, then what is Scully going to look like? He doesn’t have to wonder long. The bathroom door opens with a soft click and there she is. A vision in a potato sack.

“Don’t say anything,” she grumbles as she stomps over to the bed. Her nails are painted in deep forest green. Who would have thought? His eyes don’t remain long on her feet. He can see her knees and the hint of a thigh. Her attire shouldn’t be sexy at all; the old grey button-down-shirt would be unflattering on everyone. On Scully, though, it looks perfect. Not that she would believe him. It’s best to do what she said and not say anything. “Bathroom is all yours,” she says as she gets into bed, curling away from him. “Shower doesn’t work,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. There go his plans for a very cold shower. Mulder throws some water into his face and washes the rest of his body as well as he can in the tiny room. The soapy lemon scent is better than the day-old aftershave that clings to his body. He looks into the mirror and prepares himself for sleeping in the same bed as Scully. It could be worse. This is Scully, after all. She’ll too smell like lemon, he realizes. Just like him, she’ll be scantily dressed. They’re a perfect set tonight. What could go wrong, really? His cock twitches.

Just about everything.

The lights are off when he leaves the bathroom. Thanks, Scully. He finds the bed anyway, or rather his toe does.

“Can you please be quiet?” Scully mumbles from somewhere.

“You could have left the lights on,” he says, trying to sound jovial as he gets into bed. The mattress is hard, but at least he no longer is. Scully and her icy attitude have worked their magic.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Ever the doctor, his Scully.

“No.”

“Too bad,” she mumbles. Or at least he thinks she does. He bites his tongue and attempts to get comfortable. It’s no use. “Are you finally done?” This time she says it loud and clear.

“I hate this,” he says, tugging at the blanket that Scully is holding hostage. “Scully, would you share, please? I’m freezing.” She huffs, but he is finally able to cover himself. Or at least one half of him. It will have to do. Turning around, Scully elbows him in the chest.

“Sorry,” she says.

“Oh, are you?” He can make out her silhouette in the shadows; she’s still leaning towards him. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor? Is that it? I know you can’t stand to be around me, but hell, Scully, I’m just trying to sleep here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mulder. We’re adults. I know you’d prefer I was Diana instead, but-”

“Are you kidding me?” He turns around so quickly that he crashes into her flannel-clad upper body. There’s the softest pressure of her breast against his skin, separated by one, fluffy layer. For a moment, he forgets what he’s angry about.

“Mulder, I know you and her are… something.”

“We’re history.” To him, they are. He can’t speak for Diana. All he knows is that he doesn’t want her back. Neither as his lover nor his partner. Why can’t Scully see that?

“Whatever you are,” she continues and he rolls his eyes, “you and I are friends and as such we can share the bed.” This is it. He’s had it. All day long, she’s given him one-syllable answers, angry death glares and now this.

“We’re not just friends,” his voice rumbles, “and you fucking know it.” He hears her sharp intake of breath and wishes he could see her. She’s close. He can smell that damn lemon soap. On her it smells delicious. A few inches, if at all, and there she’d be. Her lips. Her mouth. He pictures it half-open, ready to rebuke him. Ready to be kissed.

When she does speak after long seconds, it’s not what he expected.

“What are we then, Mulder?”

And he finds he has no answer.

**Author's Note:**

> Written in September 2019.


End file.
